How To Shop Alone for A Christmas Tree and Act Like You're Enjoying Yourself

Let's say you live alone. Nobody needs to know why. And let's say you're in a festive mood and have decided to buy a tree for the holidays. Through the years you've bought trees with lovers, family, and friends, of course, but this time, let's just say through no fault of your own, you're going alone. You put a scarf around your neck, and as you hop out of the car at the Christmas tree place, you think maybe a little frosty air just came out of your mouth, despite the mild weather.

You're not in a rush because...well, there's noone to rush you. So you head into the place, tabula rasa. You'll pick a tree and that's it. No fuss, no bother. Everyone has told you a Douglas Fir is best because it smells best, but you'll decide for yourself. Or wait a minute, did they say Fraser Fir? Didn't mother always say Blue Spruce was the best? Do they have those in this state? Well wait a minute. What kind is the one in Rockefeller Center? Those people would know for sure! What about the White House? Georgie Porgie wouldn't know, but Laura would. Wait! Shouldn't you get one of those with the long ultrasoft needles, in case a wee child should visit and reach out a delicate hand in tender admiration? But those cost so little! Why? What's wrong with them?! Grandpa always said to get a good pine tree, less pretentious. But remember that friend who had a beautiful sagging cedar tree that just made your heart melt with the loveliness of it?

You fold your arms and admire the trees with a smile, not a trace of melancholy about you. You greet the staff and customers with a wave of your unnecessarily mittened hand. You might just pick a Charlie Brown tree, something sweet and small you can stick in a galvanized pail somewhere alongside yourself and your TV. Oh what the hell it's only $15 more for the giant tree over there! No reason you can't have a big tree! Oh geez, but where are all your old ornaments? Would you have enough? In storybooks they always string cranberries and popcorn, but you've never actually stringed a string longer than three feet. Why is that so hard?

Ah well, jolly good. The teenager on duty asks you if you've made up your mind. You say you were just checking it out and will come back with "the boss" later. On the way home you stop at a convenience store and buy two hot chocolates, just on the off-chance the sixteen-year-old clerk with the nose-ring will think there's someone home in slippers and a robe, your big old hungry sleepy man, waiting for you by a warm fire.